


Forget Him, Remember Us

by Crowley (Tay_Cipher7)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: "we are venom" type shit, Bad Steve Rogers, Bucky as the WS, Cheating, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard and Maria were bad parents, Implied/Referenced Panic Attacks, M/M, Mild Angst with a happy ending, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Explicit Sex, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers bashing, They're the same person but also not, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, bc steve is the worst, because tony has honestly had the worst time, good friend natasha, implied/referenced PTSD, protective winter soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tay_Cipher7/pseuds/Crowley
Summary: Tony could only stare, his breath caught in his throat, his heart locking shut, the tears collecting in his eyes, betrayal seeping deep into the marrow of his bones. Tony knew pain and heartbreak, knew betrayal, but this was so much worse—he had convinced himself that what they had was good, that it could be good.The Soldier’s arm reared back, hand still unyielding and tight around the thick muscles of the so-called Captain’s throat, before slamming Steve’s head back into the brick wall he was pinned against. “You’re a bastard, Steve Rogers.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Natasha Romanov, past!Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 36
Kudos: 663





	Forget Him, Remember Us

* * *

  
  


Steve and Tony used to date. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t even _good_ most of the time, but it was the closest thing Tony ever had to a stable relationship so he was more than willing to turn a blind eye. He did everything he could to satisfy Steve, to show his loyalty and dedication to what he believed they were building together.

Tony always planned the dates, paid for the food. Always organized their outings with Steve in mind, no matter how much he would really rather _not_. 

He always made the gear with extra care, always catered to everything Steve wanted. It was to keep him safe, after all.

He even went to his father’s memorials. He’d beg and plead with Steve, willing to bargain, willing to make a deal, willing to give himself to Steve as long as he didn’t make him go. Tony _loathed_ his father, but that was not something Steve could ever comprehend. 

Howard was a gem to Steve. But he was the source of many nightmares to Tony.

Steve denied him.

Tony went.

* * *

He cried in the silence of his lab, locked away from everyone, after each gaudy memorial that seemed more like a socialite’s networking soirée than a remembrance of a tragic death. (Though, perhaps it was more appropriate that way. It’s not like Tony _really_ cared.) But Stark men don’t cry. _Stark men are made of Iron_ , Howard would say.

Well, Tony didn’t want to be a Stark anymore.

Perhaps...if he coped with _this_ , it couldn't get worse.

* * *

It didn’t just get worse.

* * *

Tony caught Steve three days after the loathed memorial of his deadbeat, abusive, alcoholic father, in bed with one of the female reporters he had seen at the last several memorials—even at his press releases.

Tony could only stare, his breath caught in his throat, his heart locking shut, the tears collecting in his eyes, betrayal seeping deep into the marrow of his bones. Tony knew pain and heartbreak, knew betrayal, but this was so much worse—he had convinced himself that what they had was good, that it _could be good_. 

More fool him.

“So…how long?” He found his voice, the scene in front of him still unfolding, the moans and screams of pleasure, the gasps and pants of breathless lust.

“Shit—! Tony?” Steve yelped, the woman under him gasping in surprise as she tried to cover herself, still locked together with the man above her.

“How long?” Tony croaked again, struggling to not let the tears fall. He felt so weak in this moment.

“Um,” Steve cleared his throat, his eyes darting as his mind tried to wrap itself around the situation through the clouded haze of lust. “Three years…”

Tony inhaled sharply before he choked, hand flying up to his mouth to stifle the sound. The brutal honesty took him aback, “Three years? _Three years?_ That's how long we were together! This whole time? You’ve been cheating on me this _whole time_?” Tony’s mind swam, falling over memory after memory, recalling every moment, every touch, every exchange of words. He looked for the signs, for the things he missed. _What did he miss?_

“Tony, it’s not like you aren’t off bedding anything that moves,” Steve scoffed. “You whore yourself out like you’re _addicted!_ You expect me to believe you haven’t been sleeping around, yourself? _Please_ , I’m not an idiot.”

And didn’t those words sting. They were like pricks up his spine, a knife twisting in his gut, a numbness in his limbs as they burned. Tony couldn’t breathe, his lungs spasming behind his ribs as his heart thumped painfully.

“I never—I would never…I thought—.“ His breath hitched. _And wasn’t that the kicker?_ Tony laughed to himself, perhaps a bit maniacally. “I would have never cheated on you.”

Steve scoffed again, rolling his eyes, “Sure, Tony. Look, I had to find something else. I wasn’t feeling particularly… _satisfied_ and figured that, since I know you sleep around all the time, there’s hardly any harm in me doing it too. Don’t get so worked up over it.” 

Steve looked back to his bedmate, seemingly adjusting himself as to get more comfortable, but all it did was rip a loud moan from the reporter under him. 

“Tony, I know your ego doesn’t allow you to understand this,” Steve didn’t look his way, “but you’re not that great at relationships. People need more in life than _just_ you. It was likely the same way with your past...partners, I suppose you might call them. I would bet it’s that way even the ones you’re with now—certainly was for me.” 

He paused, as if contemplating his next words, then added, “You can’t just spread your legs and buy your way into a relationship, Tony.”

 _Fuck_ , Tony wanted to _scream_. After all of this—all the time, the heart, the _everything_ that Tony gave this man—it wasn’t enough? _He_ wasn’t enough? But, oh, why should he truly be surprised? Perhaps, this time, not all of the mighty Captain America’s words were false.

Tony took one more breath, clearing his throat enough to speak, even if just for a second, “We’re over, Steve. Have fun with the reporter. I wish you both a miserable life.”

And that was it. 

Tony left, stumbling desperately into his private room, the suppressed, agonizing sobs that had built up in his throat finally ripping their way out, deafening in the silence—the rush of the small fountain was the only other sound that occupied the space, making the emptiness seem all that much more obvious. 

JARVIS dimmed the lights, warmed the room, locked the door. Tony broke. The agony and crippling loneliness consumed him.

* * *

It was years later that the Winter Soldier was found, his identity revealed and the sins of the father exposed. 

Tony grieved alone. 

He wasn’t grieving for his parents. No, he never would—they were the furthest thing from parents. Jarvis and Ana got those titles, not the horrid man who sired him and the bitter trophy who bore him.

No, Tony grieved for the betrayal that once again simmered in his chest.

* * *

Tony would get over it. Eventually.

JARVIS helped. Kept Tony from buying new alcohol to restock the long-deserted wet bar.

* * *

Tony felt no anger towards the Winter Soldier. He had no reason to. In reality, perhaps he should be thanking him. He did watch the Soldier, however, when he was first forced into the compound at the harping of his blond ex-war buddy.

Tony could tell the Soldier was uncomfortable. Didn’t particularly like the man but held no outward animosity towards him either. Tony figured that meant there would be no Super Soldier on Super Soldier fights breaking out anytime soon.

He didn’t really like the prospect of the massive repair costs that would undoubtedly follow. Not that it would be trouble to his finances, but contrary to popular belief, Tony wasn’t a big fan of throwing money where it didn’t need to be.

Tony noticed other things, too. But he kept to himself. It was safer that way.

* * *

  
  
James and Winter, or “the Soldier” as they preferred to be called when more-or-less a single entity, started out simply curious; they were _fascinated_ by Tony Stark. After being brought to the compound, the man never looked at them with hostility or anger, as would have been expected, only wary curiosity.

It puzzled them both. Did the man not hate them for the murder of his parents?

James decided he would not ask, Winter decided the same. They would wait...for now, anyway.

The Soldier stayed silent.

* * *

Tony helped them. He was relatively quiet most of the time, surprisingly patient with the Soldier as well. He gave the Soldier choices, asked for their opinions, or other questions when he felt like the situation called for it.

Tony let the Soldier come to him.

Tony fixed their arm first. It was a mess; the countless years of grime and lack of good maintaining, had Tony murmuring under his breath on how the arm could possibly still function.

Somehow, Tony knew that it hurt, too. The weight pulling on the muscles in their shoulder, making their back ache. The way the arm’s wiring crossed over and rubbed together, shooting pain up their spine and through the back of their skull.

Tony fixed that, too. Fixed the wires; replaced part after part after part; made the arm’s weight significantly more even to the weight of their flesh arm, taking the strained pull off their shoulders. 

He gave the arm fine-sensors, able to detect heat and pressure. It was _so_ sensitive at first, almost overwhelming. The Soldier felt like they could feel _everything_. It was beautiful. Almost too much.

The Soldier didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The feeling eventually became less sensitive as their body grew used to it. It would never stop being so utterly earth-shattering to the Soldier.

* * *

James fell first.

How could he not?

Tony was beautiful. His small, lean stature. His honey-golden eyes and the soft, supple waves of his dark-auburn hair.

He was _perfect_. So smart, observant; so clever, even cunning. His voice was warm and smooth, not grating on his heightened senses. He never expected James to be _Bucky_ ; to be who he once was rather than who he’s come to be. 

Tony never blamed him for his trauma, would never look at him strange or expect him to talk about it. Tony would just bring him a weighted blanket and a cup of vanilla chamomile; smile at him that soft, non-expectant, understanding smile–and they would sit in warm silence until James would let out a heavy sigh as the tension in his shoulders melted away; he’d lean back to breathe in the hints of Tony’s scent in the crisp air of the night. 

(Tony always smelled like dark-roast coffee and hazelnuts. Sometimes like grease, especially when he got caught up in a project. There was always something endearing, James would think to himself, about the small grease stain over the bridge of Tony’s nose, or on the edge of his jaw.)

* * *

Winter fell second.

It took longer, though, because he didn’t understand his own thoughts. He and James shared the same body, the same feelings and reactions; sometimes they shared a mind and thoughts, and actions. They were the same in this. But Winter didn’t _understand_ like James did. James knew more, experienced differently than Winter ever had the chance to, so James _helped_ him understand.

It was not slow, per-say, but it was not quick, either. It took time, but James knew _that time_ was important for Winter.

James was willing to wait.

* * *

He didn’t have to wait long.

* * *

Winter fell _hard_. 

He became _protective_. Even nurturing, to an extent.

It was the gentle touches, Winter told James, and the hesitant requests that Tony clearly tried to make sure were _not_ “orders,” even though it wasn’t like he suffered from compulsions to follow them. He was perfectly capable of not following them—if he wasn’t, then he would be at Roger’s mercy and that just made both Winter _and_ James incredibly uncomfortable. 

(But, despite this, Winter understood that Tony still tried to make it clear he had free-choice; made it obvious that he could say _no_ , or change his mind, and it would be just fine. And if Winter’s heart sped up just a bit at the effort, James didn’t say a thing.) 

It was the way Tony spoke. The way he crafted sentences; the special tone he used to speak to the Soldier. The reassurances and the silence when talking was unnecessary; the refusal for a situation to turn awkward, especially when Winter didn’t have the right words to convey his thoughts the way he wanted to. Tony was always patient, and made sure Winter knew he could take his time, and that Tony did not judge beyond his fond gaze when Winter tripped over his words or stuttered to a stop mid-sentence.

James didn’t help him there, with the words, that is. Winter needed to learn; to experience. He needed Tony’s help, his patience, his encouragement, just as much as he needed James’.

* * *

But then Tony started to avoid them…

* * *

The Soldier was confused. They _knew_ that Tony liked them, liked them the same way they liked him; they could read it in his eyes, his expressions, and body language as if they were reading their favourite novel.

They didn’t understand _why_ Tony was acting like this.

They were fine before. Tony always smiled when they walked in the room, or when James would make him something to eat during a work binge in his lab, or when Winter would always hand him a fresh cup of coffee when he stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes hooded, still half-asleep. 

So what changed?

It took too long for the Soldier’s liking to figure it out. And they didn’t even do so on their own. Rhodey and Natasha eventually caught on that the Soldier didn’t understand...so they told them.

They told them that Tony loved the Soldier, but that he was terrified of love, that he didn’t trust it.

They told them what Steve did. 

They told them how Tony had become more withdrawn. He touched less (not that it was much before), spoke less, smiled less, ate _less_. Spent more time in the lab, away from people, away from prying eyes and interaction. 

They told the Soldier the story. The story of _why_.

Told them what Tony found out, Steve’s accusations. They told the Soldier what Tony now whispers to himself in the dark when he thinks no one is around; what he would say when those who truly cared for him asked after him—telling them that he doesn’t deserve them, or deserve… _anything_ for that matter. That after all he’s done, this suffering was what he _did_ deserve. Because after stewing in the desert planes of his own mind for so long, he had truly begun to believe that Steve _just might_ be right. Not about the cheating–never about the cheating...but the rest of it? Perhaps, it was true. Love seemed to be a toxin to Tony—or, really, Tony was a toxin to love. He wishes to spare people of that pain; the burden of being with him— _near_ him.

The Soldier listened, they listened with rapt attention like their life depended on it. They memorized every word and they felt their heart soar and grow heavy with pain and shatter all at the same time. 

When the story was done, the Soldier was, above all, fucking _pissed_. But he ached, too.

But then JARVIS _showed_ them. It was like the AI had been compiling evidence for years. Every brush off, bitter expression, cruel word. Everything Steve did and everything Tony tried to do to just _make it better_.

JARVIS showed them what happened that night: Tony finding out, Tony leaving the room, reappearing in his own, hyperventilating, going into an attack. The wails as he crumpled to the floor, where the time stamp showed he stayed for nearly three whole days, passed out.

It was as if the Soldier died with Tony in that moment. _They never want to see him like that again. Ever. For however long they live._

That moment, the Soldier vowed they would do anything for Tony. Whatever he asked for, he would have it. If Tony asked for their heart on a platter, he would get it.

So how _dare_ Steve, the _bastard_. What he did to someone so perfect, and sensitive, and beyond _traumatized_ by endless pain and betrayal, was monstrous. Cruel. It stirred the Soldier’s ire.

How _dare_ Steve—in all his “righteousness”, so caught up thinking he knows best and knows everything, that he can’t see anything unless it's through his _Steve Rogers’ Special Edition, Critically Acclaimed, Hypocrite-Coloured Glasses!_

Much to the surprise of both Natasha and Rhodey, the Ex-Hydra super-assassin, led them away from where they’d been, and murder-strutted to the common room, zeroing in on Steve before pinning him against the wall with his metal arm. The blood in their ears deafened the Soldier, blinded them as red-hot rage encompassed their being, tension tightening their shoulders taut, ready to snap like a rubber band-gone-white.

Everyone in the room yelped. Tony just happened to walk in as the scene started to unfold. He stood there, utterly frozen in place, eyes wide, a white-knuckled grip on the Stark-tablet he was holding. The others were just as frozen and wide-eyed, but likely more wary and anxious than Tony.

"How dare—how _dare_ you," Bucky said low, nearly growling, baring his teeth. His ice-grey eyes were piercing, promising suffering, his limbs struggling to hold in tremors from the vengeful adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Buck—Bucky? This—this isn't you! Do you remember me? It’s me, Steve…Is the Soldier taking over? Or…is it the arm—has it messed with your mind? Tony, _what_ did you do to the arm?" Steve was frantic, too busy staring at Tony with his 'disappointed accusations’ face to see that, the more he talked, the darker the Soldier's face got.

"Eyes on me, _punk,_ ” James spat. “You don't even deserve to look at him. After what you did? You're lucky I don't let Winter take it from here.”

Steve started sputtering, “Bucky, what? Buck…you’re confused. It’s me, it’s Steve, your best friend—you remember me, right?”

“Shut _up_.”

Tony still stood statue-still, wide-eyed at the scene before him. He nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping the tablet when two different hands settled gently on each of his shoulders. Rhodey and Nat at each side, giving him reassuring smiles and a gentle squeeze where their hands rest before dropping them to look at the scene in front of them. Nat was now holding Tony’s tablet

“I heard. I heard _everything_. I’ve seen it. I _know_ what you did to him. To _Tony_.”

Steve’s eyes widened in fear right before they relaxed and began to sparkle, “Hang on, Buck…what did Tony tell you? You know how he always twists the truth, I told you to be careful. He’ll only disappoint you.” His eyes flickered back to Tony, sighing, “Really, Tony, this is just sad.”

This time Bucky really _did_ snarl, or, perhaps, it was now Winter, “чушь собачья! Antoshka wasn’t the one who told us. You would do best to not say more, you will not make it better.” The Soldier’s voice was now thick with a Russian accent, his words low and cold and _venomous_ as the metal arm’s grip on Steve’s neck tightened dangerously.

“What did you do to—give him back! Bucky you have to fight, don’t give i—!” Whatever ridiculous sentiment he had left to say was stoppered, choked off by the heavy punch to the gut.

“You’re a fool, Steve. I’m always here. Never left. Winter just has a few things of his own to say, so I _really do_ suggest you stop talking.”

Winter spoke again, “Antoshka’s son in the walls showed us. Colonel Rhodes and Natalia spoke with us, explained what we didn’t know, what we didn’t understand. You’re disgusting, Rogers. Pathetic. Keep his name out of your mouth, you’re not worthy of it.”

“Buck—!” Steve wheezed out, trying to speak again, but James didn’t give him the chance.

“No, you listen. Right now, we’re speaking as one,” His grip tightened further against Steve’s windpipe. “You know what you did. You knew what your actions and words would do to him. You know how he is, what he thinks of himself. You know the pain he’s suffered—maybe not all of it, I doubt anyone knows all of it—but enough to know that what you did would hurt him. Break him in ways that he would never quite recover from.

“I see him. I haven’t even been around as long as you but I’ve _seen him_. I haven’t even been with him, I haven’t even been able to show him love. To tell him he’s perfect. To imprint in his mind, through the never-ending trauma, that he is _loved_. That he _deserves_ to be _selfish_. That his beauty knows no bounds. To tell him his kindness is priceless and his laugh sounds like clarity bells. That he means _everything_ to us, and that we would burn the world if he asked. But now? We may never get that chance because of _what you’ve done_.

“We may never be able to show him the pleasures that come from being with someone who will worship the ground he stands on. Winter and I may never get to make love to him or experience domestic bliss with him on lazy mornings. We may never be able to cherish him as he deserves because of your pride, your _bigotry_. You know, I’m glad Tony left you because he deserves so much more. And maybe that more isn’t us, and that’s okay, because whatever Tony wants, whatever Tony asks for, he will have. The Soldier will assure it.”

The Soldier’s arm reared back, hand still unyielding and tight around the thick muscles of the so-called _Captain_ ’s throat, before slamming Steve’s head back into the brick wall he was pinned against. “You’re a _bastard_ , Steve Rogers.”

Tony didn’t even know he had tears on his face. He didn’t even know that he had moved from where he was, and over to the enraged super-soldier. His heart hammering violently against his ribs, his head dizzy with the words. Tony didn’t realize any of that until his face was pressed against the soft cotton of the super-soldier’s shirt, right between the shoulder blades. Tony was tiny compared to the Soldier, his head barely above the top of their shoulders, if even that; Tony’s head could have easily been tucked, ever so perfectly, under the Soldier’s chin if the Soldier let themselves slouch into the contact.

Tony’s smaller arms came around the Soldier’s middle, gripping tight at the fabric on the man's front.

“Antoshka?” Winter asked, his voice softening as he turned his attention to the kitten nuzzling at his back.

Tony sniffled, pressing himself closer into the large, sturdy warmth, hiding his tears from the world. His weaknesses from prying eyes.

“ _Winter. James_ ,” he croaked, hands twisting in the black cotton as he tried to smother the whine building up behind his teeth. The confession was so personal, so perfect, it hurt Tony’s heart. He feared it was too much, too revealing for the others in the room. He felt bare, cut raw and exposed. 

But he was also happy. Tony had asked himself, just for a moment, if he even deserved someone as good as the Soldier, if the Soldier deserved better…but the thought left as quickly as it came. James and Winter…Tony had seen their type before; they were the type to love once, and love hard—with everything they were. It was something he was always envious of; wondered what being on the other end of that fierce love would be like. To truly experience it... And yeah, maybe they did deserve better, but they chose _Tony_ , and Tony couldn’t exactly say he wasn’t elated. He’s one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, but maybe, this time, he won’t.

“Tony,” James breathed, before refocusing on the red-faced Captain who was gaping as his hands palmed wildly at the metal arm. “Listen to me, Steve, I will _not_ repeat myself. You speak of him negatively, you think his name with anything other than reverent thanks, you so much as _look_ at him wrong, and I will not play Winter’s voice of reason. I couldn’t care less about what happens to you. You’re pathetic. It makes me sick just looking at you; thinking of how I once considered you good. Kind. A friend. A _Brother_. But I was wrong, you’re nothing but scum. Stay away from Tony. Or I'll make you _miserable_. He’s _mine_.” The Soldier snarled again.

With that, the vice-like grip around Steve’s thick neck released, and the man slumped to the floor, gasping desperately for air, gulping in huge lung-fulls at a time. His lungs burned in an unfamiliar— _yet oh so familiar_ —way. 

James paid him no mind, gathering the arms that clung to him, before turning and pinning them between their chests, wrapping himself around the smaller form in the process. Tony’s hands fisted back into the soft, black cotton, burrowing his face in the folds as he drew himself smaller into the large body before him.

“We’ve got you, Doll,” James whispered reverently. “For however long as you’ll have us.” His Brooklyn drawl and Winter’s Russian accent mixing as they both whispered sweet words of love and benediction to the shaking man in their arms.

“Take me away? Please,” Tony asked plaintively from the safe cover of the body curled around his.

The Soldier breathed in that intoxicating scent of hazelnut and fresh coffee, gently nuzzling the top of the man’s head, “Of course. Anything for you, котенок. Let’s go, hm?” 

The Soldier wasted no time before lifting Tony up, their metal arm just under his thighs, encouraging the smaller man to wrap his legs around their waist; flesh hand cupping the back of Tony’s head, gently guiding him to hide his face in the Soldier’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you, Antoshka. We’ll always catch you when you fall,” Winter whispered into Tony’s ear as he pressed Tony closer to his chest, his arms tightening as much as they could without hurting the delicate man melting against him.

They left like that, not sparing a glance at the gentle, hopeful gazes of Natasha and Rhodey; the disbelieving glare from Steve; and the silent confusion of the other members that had been in the room but found themselves unable to react. (Not that they would. It was obvious that they were missing vital information, and that the exchange had nothing to do with them. It is also widely known that if the Soldier’s true intentions that night were to kill the Captain, nothing any of them could have done would have saved him. They resigned themselves to hopefully knowing later…or perhaps, in this particular instance, ignorance truly was bliss.)

“They’ll be good for him,” Natasha said, still looking the way the two just left.

“Yes, they will,” Rhodey agreed before his gaze turned to Steve, who still sat on the floor, wide-eyed in shock and disbelief.

Rhodey’s eyes narrowed and the fire in his heart roared, “You do anything to harm their happiness, and I will do nothing but watch in satisfaction as the Soldier tears you apart.”

Natasha nodded once to that and they both turned and left, followed by the shaken witnesses, leaving the pallid super-soldier to the chaos of his own thoughts.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like Steve but I am soft for the Soldier hurting people for tiny Tony.
> 
> \+ (If the Russian is not quite what it should be in context, please comment so that I may edit accordingly.)
> 
> \+ A candle for Hekate for putting up with me long enough to Beta,,
> 
> Here’s an invite link to a Writer’s Discord server I’m in. Feel free to join (and expect anarchy): https://discord.gg/jV8vZ79jr2


End file.
